Lampada per la notte
by Canadino
Summary: Tonight the stars aren't out. That means no more nightlight. Romano tries to find some light in this stupid, huge, godforsaken house of Spain's.


**Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.**

Background music: --

**Minimal fluff 09!**

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Lampada per la notte

Had one been sitting outside on a warm, summer night watching the peculiar Spanish house, they might have noticed nothing out of the ordinary. The walls had an respectable age to them, although they had never lost their majesty, sloping up impressively toward the sky. With a sniff, one might have picked up the smell of ripening plants, the tomato plant the dominating one.

Watching closer, one might have been able to pick up movement from a window, a little hand pulling the curtains back slightly to take a peek outside.

"Cloudy night," Romano grumbled, staring up at the sky from the little bed at the window side. Sitting up, he yawned slightly, insignificantly, as he reached about for his pillow (at the foot of the bed, somehow it ended up there on his fight with Spain not to go to bed) and fumbled around for a lamp Spain kept near the bed. He was young, little, and Spain told him not to play with matches, but Romano skillfully lit one and basked the little room with the glow of the oil lamp. Ignoring the sheets he left hanging off the bed and onto the floor, Romano crossed the room, casting light over the messy drawings hanging on the walls (he _was_ better at Feliciano at drawing, dammit!) and the clothes lying haphazardly on the floor.

The door creaked slightly as Romano pulled it open, using all the energy in his tiny body to do so. Why did all the doors in Spain's house have to be so damn heavy? It was a hassle trying to clean (which he did sometimes…when things got too quiet) and get into rooms at times. Finally pulling open enough space to slip through, Romano picked up the oil lamp and realized the next moment the oil lamp didn't fit. Grumbling again, he put it down and set to work at the door again.

After a (long) while, Romano could leave the room, oil lamp and all, and set forth on his journey down the house. His footsteps were quiet and he wasn't big enough to properly set the creak of the floorboards off. He paused in his travels to jump up and down on a particularly squeaky one, but all it did was thump silently as he bounced on it. Giving up on a lost cause, Romano cursed under his breath (a colorful vocabulary for such a small boy) before hitching up the lamp and walking on.

The lamp set eerie shadows on everything he passed. The vase in the hallway, which was a huge nuisance to dust in the mornings, was looking like a hidden France. The portraits on the walls seemed to leer down at him. Scampering along, Romano stiffened his bottom lip, willing himself not to cry. He was Italia, for crying out loud, and he wasn't going to have Spain find him reduced to tears in a dumb hallway. His steps quickened, although he was too small to actually go anyway fast.

Stupid long hallway.

Stupid big house.

Spain slept in the other side of the house, as Romano had insisted he wanted nothing to do with the private quarters of his caretaker. He was a nation; he didn't have to be supervised by someone else! But, Romano considered, as his bare feet pitter-pattered on the stone of the courtyard, Spain's house had its merits. He didn't have to worry about being snatched away by the likes of Turkey (he refused to believe Feliciano actually beat him up, it was a totally false story), although he'd heard Spain's boss complaining about him being present. Night made him feel smaller than usual. Romano stopped to watch a shiny beetle run past him before reaching the other side of the courtyard.

Wherever Spain was, it seemed cheerfulness was also present. Stepping into Spain's quarters, the air seemed warmer than the cool chill of the night air. The pillow trailed behind him, dragging in loose bits of dirt onto the clean floor. Romano didn't remember cleaning this part of the house; had Spain done so when he was eating tomatoes off the vine? A bit of him curled up in shame for stealing some of the tomatoes when Spain had specifically told him not to, but Romano would be difficult. It was in his nature.

Holding up the oil lamp higher, Romano walked past the gleam of the armor Spain left out in the hallway to dry. It was polished so the light of the lamp bounced off the metal and nearly blinded the child. Sticking his tongue out at it, Romano wandered toward it, stopping in front of the ax, a favorite weapon of Spain's. There were no more blood stains; in fact, it gleamed as if it had always been pure. Running his hands on it after setting the lamp and pillow down, Romano attempted to pick it up. As usual, it was too heavy, as he had known in the small moments Spain would let him touch it ("It's sharp, Romano~! I don't want you getting hurt!").

Someday, he'd be able to wield it, and other bigger, better weapons.

The pillow dusted the floor again, the light in front of it casting warmer shadows.

The door was slightly ajar. Romano didn't have to exert too much effort to open it. Unabashedly barging in, Romano briskly strolled up to the bed, a bit on the tall side. There was the sound of calm breathing and peace; Romano plunked the oil lamp on a chair and tossed the pillow onto the bed. It landed on the bed with a soft thump.

With a running start from the doorway, Romano sailed through the air and landed squarely on Spain's stomach, startling the older nation awake. "Oof!" Spain's face changed from alarm, to anger, to recognition, to default cheer in record time, reaching over to pick Romano up as if he hadn't been asleep to begin with. "Romano! What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare? You don't visit me often at night!"

"Stupid," Romano scoffed, wishing he was closer to the bed instead of being held in the air. Maybe he would have been able to reach his pillow and suffocate Spain with it, or get the lamp and burn the bed with the idiot still on it. "It's cloudy tonight."

"Hmm," Spain said, his eyes closed, although his grip on Romano was still strong.

"Hey, bastard," Romano said, his foul-mouthedness still awake in the night. He reached forward and tapped Spain on the nose. "You said I would always have a nightlight. Now there aren't any."

Romano had been, as expected of all small children, afraid of the dark, and insisted Spain keep the lamp on or at least a candle in the room. After a small incident where the candle was knocked over and almost burnt a whole desk, Spain had put his foot down on all fire. Romano would have put up a fight, if Spain had not smartly pointed out the stars were bright enough. This had been a satisfactory ploy, but today it didn't fly.

"No stars?" Spain asked, his eyes opening to look at his charge, hovering over him angrily. The light from the lamp danced in his eyes, no ill will or frustration in his dark eyes.

"No stars," Romano echoed, noticing how the glow from the lamp reflected off the gold cross around Spain's neck, imitating the glitter of the stars.

"I can't make stars appear," Spain sighed, almost regretfully, as he put Romano back down on the bed. "I suppose you can't sleep here for the night then?"

"Hmph. I bet you asked the clouds to come in so this could happen."

"If I could control clouds too! I would make so much rain that it would flood England's shores." Spain chuckled, ruffling Romano's hair affectionately. "You should get some sleep. You're a growing nation. Growing nations need their sleep."

"I brought my pillow so I may as well anyway," Romano grumped, throwing it down next to Spain's head and lying next to him, the epitome of stubbornness. Spain smiled, his eyes already droopy, as he cuddled next to the kid.

"_Buenas noches, _Romano."

"_Buona notte, _stupid Boss."

Owari

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Notes: Platonic love is beautiful, children. I decided to take a break from perverted mind-ness. I hope you like. Spain/Romano is sacred no matter what. Review, please!


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